Mom's birthday
I'm in a funk. I've spent hours on the phone with Tamar. Tomorrow is Mom's 55th birthday. Pity she only lived to see 51. She has been on my mind a lot lately...it is hard to realize that she has been gone for three and a half years now. Grandmother has been gone for 4.5 years, Gerald will be 2 years in August, Carol a year ago in January--wow, it is amazing how deaths seem to pile up.
Its taken a lot of time to reconsile myself to how hard I was on her, how unforgiving and unaccepting I was of her, and the things her identity problems drove her to say and do. I think about the things I have said to the people I love while I am under so much stress, the apologies I have felt compelled to make because I feel so burdened by my unkind words.
I have so much remourse. I wish I had learned about practicing compassion before she died. It would have made it possible for me to honour her requests, to break the silence of 5 years instead of letting her go to her grave unforgiven. I am such a hard-ass. And a softy. I am worried about my sisters. I should call Tess tonite. Neither of them is talking to the other, and this period is harder on them than it is on me. Tam still grieves for mom, and when we talk, her voice shakes, and she says she still misses mom every day, I remember standing there helplessly as the sounds of her grief carried through the jungle... those awful, heart-rending cries. It has made her stronger somehow, losing mom, accepting the profound sense of loss -- not for what she had -- but for what she didn't have and always held out hope for. Mom walked out of our lives when I was 9, she walked back in when I was 18. I was cold and cautious. I was angry with her for leaving us with Dad -- later, she told me she thought she was leaving us with our Grandparents. She didn't realize that they would give us back to him, and when she tried to reclaim us, she was shut out. She said she had to leave, or he would have killed her.
And with the cruelty of youth, I told her yeah, he almost killed me. I told her the violence didn't stop when she left, he just switched to us. I tried to protect my sisters, as best I could. I knew every time he went for one of them, every time I stepped into his way, that it might be the time he'd kill me...and part of me wanted it. I used to think "If he kills me this time, he'll go to jail, and they'll be safe." When I told her that, she cried. I think it is the only time I saw her cry.
The few people I have told have asked why I didn't report him for child abuse. Its simple. I threatened it once. I threatened it once and he made my sisters watch as he beat me, to teach them my lesson, of what he would do if they got such ideas into their heads. He railed and promised that if I did he would pack the kids up and go and I'd never see them again. And I knew he'd do it, he'd moved us on the drop of a hat so many times, always running, running. And so I didn't. I stayed home from school for two weeks, until the black eyes and the worst of the bruises faded, until my hands healed and I could move around again, and I kept my mouth shut, because in the easily-twisted logic of a child's mind, I thought by doing so, I was protecting my sisters. All those years, I faulted my mother for abandoning us to that. It wasn't until recently that I started looking at it from her perspective, tried to imagine myself in her place and the agony of her decision. She chose to send us to our Grandparents and then she ran away, because she wanted to live. She thought we would have a better life with them than we would have had with her, on the run from Dad. And thinking about it, talking about it with Tammy, I can't fault her intentions. She meant well. She knew she was sick. Its not her fault the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
So for your 55th birthday Mom, I'm giving you what you wanted most. Forgiveness. It means something, doesn't it, even if it is posthumously?
Its taken a lot of time to reconsile myself to how hard I was on her, how unforgiving and unaccepting I was of her, and the things her identity problems drove her to say and do. I think about the things I have said to the people I love while I am under so much stress, the apologies I have felt compelled to make because I feel so burdened by my unkind words.
I have so much remourse. I wish I had learned about practicing compassion before she died. It would have made it possible for me to honour her requests, to break the silence of 5 years instead of letting her go to her grave unforgiven. I am such a hard-ass. And a softy. I am worried about my sisters. I should call Tess tonite. Neither of them is talking to the other, and this period is harder on them than it is on me. Tam still grieves for mom, and when we talk, her voice shakes, and she says she still misses mom every day, I remember standing there helplessly as the sounds of her grief carried through the jungle... those awful, heart-rending cries. It has made her stronger somehow, losing mom, accepting the profound sense of loss -- not for what she had -- but for what she didn't have and always held out hope for. Mom walked out of our lives when I was 9, she walked back in when I was 18. I was cold and cautious. I was angry with her for leaving us with Dad -- later, she told me she thought she was leaving us with our Grandparents. She didn't realize that they would give us back to him, and when she tried to reclaim us, she was shut out. She said she had to leave, or he would have killed her.
And with the cruelty of youth, I told her yeah, he almost killed me. I told her the violence didn't stop when she left, he just switched to us. I tried to protect my sisters, as best I could. I knew every time he went for one of them, every time I stepped into his way, that it might be the time he'd kill me...and part of me wanted it. I used to think "If he kills me this time, he'll go to jail, and they'll be safe." When I told her that, she cried. I think it is the only time I saw her cry.
The few people I have told have asked why I didn't report him for child abuse. Its simple. I threatened it once. I threatened it once and he made my sisters watch as he beat me, to teach them my lesson, of what he would do if they got such ideas into their heads. He railed and promised that if I did he would pack the kids up and go and I'd never see them again. And I knew he'd do it, he'd moved us on the drop of a hat so many times, always running, running. And so I didn't. I stayed home from school for two weeks, until the black eyes and the worst of the bruises faded, until my hands healed and I could move around again, and I kept my mouth shut, because in the easily-twisted logic of a child's mind, I thought by doing so, I was protecting my sisters. All those years, I faulted my mother for abandoning us to that. It wasn't until recently that I started looking at it from her perspective, tried to imagine myself in her place and the agony of her decision. She chose to send us to our Grandparents and then she ran away, because she wanted to live. She thought we would have a better life with them than we would have had with her, on the run from Dad. And thinking about it, talking about it with Tammy, I can't fault her intentions. She meant well. She knew she was sick. Its not her fault the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
So for your 55th birthday Mom, I'm giving you what you wanted most. Forgiveness. It means something, doesn't it, even if it is posthumously?
posted by KR | 4/27/2005 02:17:00 PM
3 Comments:
Kelly, This is so sad. You and your family went through hell.Every time you offer more of yourself, your situation becomes more clear. You should be proud to still be alive and a success .You are a strong woman.I'm sorry.
Don't be sorry. The world is full of sad stories. All life is suffering, after all. In my father's defense, I will say this, and only this. My mother told me that the man who came back from Viet Nam was not the man she married.
You are right Kelly, life is full of suffering and struggle. I just hope you find some peace in your life.
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